Where Priorities Lie
by inwonderland
Summary: Draco Malfoy had always taken it for granted that other people made important decisions for him. Then he's thrown into the midst of the war, along side Harry Potter, and has to make decisions for himself, and doesn't to who to turn to for help.
1. Part One

Where Priorities Lie   
Part One 

Draco Malfoy barely even _saw_ Harry Potter any more. Not that he considered this a bad thing. It was just that occasionally, when he'd had an argument and felt like punching someone, or had had a bad lesson and needed to be mean to someone, that he really noticed Potter's elusiveness over the last six months they'd been at school.

It was the beginning of March, over half way through the school year, and Draco had only managed to have two fights with Potter. The first, the clichéd confrontation on the Hogwarts Express on September 1st, wasn't even a proper fight. They had muttered a few mild insults at each other, Draco calling Potter childish names such as "Scar-head" and Potter retorting, just as immaturely, "Ferret-face". Then had been the overdone "Mudblood and Weasel; two mouldy boulders" routine. Then they ran out of things to say. Draco never ran out of things to say. He was quite alarmed. Draco had just muttered, "Muggle loving wanker," at Potter, and walked off, Goyle and Crabbe following in his wake, Weasley gaping like a fish, Granger telling him to mind his language, and not to insult the Head Girl or she'd slap him again, and Potter saying, "Er… so? What's it to you?" down the hall. Their second fight though, had been classified as the best fight _ever_ in Draco's opinion. He'd been in the hospital wing for three entire days with a broken jaw and a black eye, and Potter slightly worse off with a broken nose, a cracked rib and a black eye as well. He'd only got a month worth of detention for his troubles as well. They hadn't attempted to make him and Potter even vaguely amicable, like he had suspected and Dumbledore had put him with Snape. Snape, of all people. Draco wondered if Dumbledore even _knew_ it was his Godfather. Snape (who couldn't tell him off about hating Potter) just told him to simmer down a bit, then told him which potion they were doing next lesson, and he started to prepare a warm-up attempt. God knows what Potter had to do. Draco hoped he had to clear the Owlery of bird excrement by hand, write out ten thousand lines of 'I am a twit, Draco Malfoy is a god', or something Potter would find equally as demeaning.

But Potter was rarely in classes, just missed out random days and Draco knew he never got detention for skipping class, so there must have been a legitimate reason for him missing class. The most popular rumours of the week were that he had fathered a baby in the holidays and was helping to look after it, that he was running off everyday to fight Death Eaters and that he was having an affair with Dumbledore. All of them were completely rubbish. Draco figured that seen as it hadn't been in the papers, and Potter was a complete _twit_, that he was still an innocent virgin that hadn't been 'de-flowered' by a Muggle in the holidays. Potter may be a Muggle-loving git with a hero-complex, but again, there hadn't been anything in the paper or from his mother about Death Eater attacks, so he figured this was rubbish as well. And the last one was just… wrong. On _so_ many levels. So Draco really didn't know where he was, and it was only on the rare occasion that he bothered to think about Potter. Even that was when he wanted to hit him.

The next morning, Draco sat down to eat his breakfast (poached egg on toast, salt, pepper and a cup of tea, one milk, two sugars) and the post was delivered by his brand new Eagle Owl. The last one had accidentally delivered a letter to Malcolm Baddock, and had unfortunately died of natural causes the same day. At least that was what he'd been told by his mother. He couldn't find a reason to not believe her, _and_ he got a new owl out of it all. The letter had the usual seal on it, dark green; it was from his mother. He opened it and pulled out the letter, trying not to show his alarm and dismay as he read through it. Malfoys never showed excessive amounts of emotion.

His father had been released from Azkaban on a technicality. Draco wondered why they hadn't found this technicality 18 months ago when he had been imprisoned to start with. He wasn't stupid, he knew his father was a Death Eater, and that it was expected that he would be one too. Draco thought it was quite likely too. He didn't especially _like_ Muggles or Mudbloods, but he didn't want to kill them. But it was his father. His father was a Death Eater and a politician. He knew he didn't have to do the same, and that some people didn't want him to, but to most people they just figured it was inevitable. He didn't know what he wanted, he just wanted someone to tell him, give him a nudge in the right direction. But different people had different ideas on what was right. Seen as no one but his parents were giving him any sort of help, he'd accepted, nearly 100 that he would become a Death Eater. That's all there was to it.

A copy of the Quibbler was thrust under his nose. He scowled at the person next to him, Pansy pissing Parkinson. She gave him 'the look' which basically told him that she was completely unaffected by him, and to read the pissing paper.

"MALFOY RELEASED; CONSPIRACY SUSPECTED," glared at him from the front page. He scanned through the article, which told him less than his letter anyway. He looked on the back of the letter. It told him to come home.

88—

Draco looked at his home, it was in the country, not a house for miles, forests just a few miles away. They were on the border of Scotland, Hogwarts only a few hours away. It was a large place, a wizarding house, which meant there were many more room that you could see, and enough room to get lost if you didn't know where you were. There were dungeons, a potion's lab, a ballroom, and a vast arrangement of other rooms, some that were there every day, and some that weren't. He got the letter about his father two days ago. He'd told Professor Snape, who looked at him rather oddly, he knew he hadn't seen pity in the man's eyes, he wasn't capable of that emotion. As he left his office Snape called out to him, "Draco, you always have a choice." Snape had arranged for him to visit his home, and gave him a Port-key that would bring him back in four days.

He walked in the front doors as the guards opened them and a house-elf ran up to him, "Morning Master Draco. I is taking your bags?" the little creature asked.

Draco nodded, dismissing him, and addressed another elf, "Where is my mother?"

"Mistress Narcissia is in the library. Is you wanting Isis to take Master Malfoy to her?" Isis asked eagerly.

Draco made a face. "I do know where the library is." He waved his hand and the elf scurried away. He walked quickly up the stairs and down the hall. He knocked on the door.

A soft voice called, "Come in."

Draco opened the door. His mother was sitting at the desk and his father was perched on the edge. His father looked… good. He'd seen the pictures of Sirius Black when he'd been in Azkaban, and the man had looked absolutely awful. Draco didn't know what he had been expecting, but it was definitely to see his father in some state of dishevelment. His hair had obviously been recently cut, and he was wearing his finest day robes. He looked rather skinny, and had a strange air about him. His mother looked as she always did, perfect.

"Mother. Father. It is so good to see you." He walked into the room, completely unsure of what to do.

Lucius looked Draco over and nodded. "Draco. It has been a while."

Draco almost smiled and nodded. "Indeed it has. Are you well?"

Lucius looked thoughtful and said slowly. "It has been a difficult time. Rather a miracle that this little hitch was found out. I don't think I could have taken much more without going completely barking. Don't know _how_ Black did it." He studied a chip on his nail.

Draco knew his father had known Sirius Black. Lucius had been in his 7th Year when Black had started Hogwarts. Apparently you would be hard pushed to find someone who didn't know the boy; he had been expected in Slytherin, and everyone had been shocked when he had been put in Gryffindor and taken up with James Potter. Of course there was also that Lucius had been present at the man's death. Draco nodded at his father. "Well, it certainly has been good fortune then." Lucius smirked, and so did Draco. They both knew it was anything but. Draco didn't know details, but he knew his father; there wasn't a technicality. It was either bribery on Lucius' part or Narcissias'. Perhaps both.

"Mother?" Draco asked. "How are you?"

Narcissia smiled. "I am very well. It is such a relief to see you both here. How has school been?"

Draco knew his cue; it was rehearsed. "Oh everything is fine Mother. My schoolwork has been going very well, as has Quidditch. We are set to win the cup this year. Gryffindor hasn't been on form this year." He didn't know if this was good or bad. It was obviously good because they would win; Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were a joke. It was bad because they had no competition, and without Potter as Seeker Gryffindor had no chance whatsoever.

"We haven't had any more… incidents with Mr Potter then?" Narcissia rebuked.

Draco almost flushed. "No Mother. Apart from the incident at Christmas there has been very little of Potter around the school." He grinned wickedly. "Rumour has it he's having an affair with a teacher."

Lucius chuckled. "I do hope you take no heed of these rumours Draco."

"Of course not," Draco said. "They are mere entertainment."

Lucius and Narcissia nodded. "Draco, after dinner we would like to introduce you to someone."

"I see," Draco said calmly. "May I… enquire to who it is?"

Lucius chuckled, and said, "Yes you may. That does not mean you will be told."

Draco smiled. "Fine. May I go to my room to change?"

"Of course. Dinner is as seven o'clock, Draco," Lucius told him. Draco left the library. He didn't dwell on who he would be meeting. It was only a few hours to wait. There more important things to think about.

88—

It was only when Draco was being led to the dungeons by his father, who seemed slightly more… eccentric than Draco remembered him to be, that he started to wonder, and worry slightly.

"Father?" he queried.

Lucius sounded amused. Why, Draco didn't have a clue. "Be patient Draco. You will like my surprise."

Draco thought it was a guest he was meeting, not getting a surprise. He decided it was probably not the _best_ idea to contradict his father. He was obviously still disturbed by his stay in Azkaban. Even _he_ hadn't discussed killing Muggles at the dinner table _before_ Azkaban. He didn't say anything. Best to play it safe.

Lucius led him further down, further that Draco had ever been before. He'd only been down there a couple of times anyway, and they weren't the most pleasant experiences he'd ever had. Suddenly, Draco felt a surge of magic.

"Father?" he said again.

Lucius turned around. The torch he held cast odd shadows over his face, and contorted the fierce cheekbones and aristocratic nose. He looked like hell warmed up. "Surprise," he said, and moved out of the way.

Harry Potter. Bound, gagged and behind bars.


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

Draco opened his mouth. Nothing came out of it. "Father?" he managed to say.

Lucius grinned. "Aren't you pleased?" he asked. "The Dark Lord is coming for him. Saturday is the full moon, He wishes to do a ritual, with Potter as His sacrifice."

"Oh," Draco said eloquently, he shook himself to overcome his surprise. "As glad as I am to see Potter has finally got what is coming to him, but… what does it have to do with me?" For some reason he didn't even believe himself. He decided not to dwell on why he thought Potter didn't deserve to be locked up. Entirely too much effort and it would only cause trouble, whatever conclusion he came to in the end. He didn't think there was any chance his father would believe him though. The man was trained in this kind of stuff.

"Plenty," Lucius said wickedly. Ah, yes. Lucius had gone round the bend. It slipped Draco's mind. "You will be guarding him until Saturday. The Dark Lord wishes to meet you too."

Harry strained at his chains. Draco took a closer look. Potter was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. He had mud smeared all over him, as well as something else. Draco suspected it was blood. His arms were pulled tightly over his head, attached to the ceiling and he was spread as wide as he could be. His wrists and ankles were tied with chains to the cold, stone wall.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Lucius asked. Draco couldn't see it. Potter was a twit, and he was too short and skinny. Plus he was all dirty and that was definitely not attractive. Draco agreed anyway. He wasn't stupid.

Lucius looked at Draco, expecting him to speak. Draco was speechless, and made something up, "As… fantastic as this is Father, and as privileged as I feel to see this, what has this to do with me?" He suddenly felt a wash of foreboding.

"You will be guarding him Draco. I trust you," he said. Draco didn't show his shock. His father had never said that to him before. As much as he didn't want to spend the next three days with Harry Potter, he wanted to impress his father. He handily forgot his father had appeared quite insane for the time he'd been in his presence, and the feeling that none of this was going to end well.

"Thank you. I hope I will… live up to your expectations," Draco said. His hands were shaking. He folded his arms.

"Not my expectations," Lucius said. "The Dark Lord's." Potter thrashed behind Draco. Draco was surprised Potter still had any fight left in him.

"Ho long has he been here?" Draco asked.

"About two days," Lucius said mildly. "He arrived shortly before I did." Draco was shocked at the casual reminder to his father's stay in Azkaban. If it was him… he wasn't sure what he'd do. He knew it would be a complete disaster though.

Draco nodded. "Is he in the… binds all the time?"

Lucius frowned. "No, I thought he may be too… boisterous, shall we say, when you came down. I'll remove them as I leave. I have his wand," he announced. He pulled it from his sleeve and twirled it in his fingers. "I will keep it. Feed him every now and again as well, Draco. Keep his strength up. He will need it," Lucius said casually. "I will check on the two of you every day or so."

Lucius flicked his wand at Potter. The binds at his feet came free, and Lucius watched in sick amusement as Potter dangled from the ceiling, his feet kicking, and his wrists straining. He flicked his wand again and Potter dropped heavily onto the floor, landing on his hands and knees. He collapsed on his stomach. Draco's eyes widened. Potter groaned and rolled onto his back, his hands moving to remove the gag. His hands worked deftly, and it came off. He grasped it tightly and stood up. He seized the bars and glared for all he was worth.

"You fucking piece of scum, how the fuck can you treat people like this, no one deserves this for fuck's sake. You can barely be called human, you hypocritical bastard…" Potter started. Draco didn't know he had such a dirty mouth. He was quite impressed.

Apparently neither did Lucius. He mock gasped, "Why, Potter, dear, please don't use such language in my house. You'll be a bad influence on Draco."

Potter laughed. It was a harsh, cruel noise that cut through Draco's skin like daggers. "As if Draco needs a bad influence with a insane, murdering Death Eater as his father."

Lucius mimed being hurt. "Mr Potter, you do wound me. I'm perfectly sane."

"If you're sane, I'm Voldemort himself," Potter said in disgust. He threw the gag on threw floor.

"Do not speak the Dark Lord's name, you insolent little fool!" Lucius growled.

"Why not?" Potter spat, "Respect? He deserves no respect from me. He deserves it from no one. He's an insane, evil _half-blood_. And you kiss his robes. Says so much about you _Lucius_ and what your precious son is going to become." Draco was, again, impressed. He didn't know anyone that stood up to his father. Potter had, and got away with his life. Was Potter just that good, or was his father going soft?

Lucius sneered at Potter. "Oh do shush Potter, or you won't get any supper. Draco, I'll check on you in the morning. Don't cause too much harm. But… I couldn't blame you. Don't leave any evidence." He shot a final look at Harry, who glared at him fiercely, and sat heavily on the floor, his back to Draco and Lucius.

"Yes Father," Draco answered mechanically.

Lucius nodded. He looked around the room and into Potter's cell, and then settled on Draco again. He didn't say anything else. He spun around, his cloak billowed and he strode away. Draco watched as he faded away. He felt… alone, disappointed and confused. He looked down the hall again and took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what he believed would be an impossible four days.

He heard Potter shout, "Wanker!" at his father's retreating back. Potter really needed to learn some tact, or at least some new insults. He sighed. Impossible, he decided, was entirely too mild for what the next four days were going to be.

88—

Draco took off his cloak, and put it on the ground so he could sit down, and shivered. The dungeons were freezing. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten. He took out his wand and looked through his memory for a Heating Charm. He cast it, and the temperature was raised a few degrees. He frowned. It was supposed to be warmer than that. He cast it again and the temperature raised to an acceptable level of warmth.

Potter coughed behind him. Draco concentrated on his arms for a minute. The goosebumps on his arms disappeared. Oh. Draco hadn't remembered that it would affect Potter too. Was he not supposed to do that? But it was cold. And Potter was obviously cold as well, he'd been down here for days. Draco had only been here about half an hour and he was already freezing. He could just stop the charm when his father came down. It was a fantastic plan, if he said so himself.

He straightened out his cloak and sat down. He liked these trousers; he didn't want to get them all dirty. Potter was leaning against the bars of the cell. He must have been terribly uncomfortable. Draco could see every one of the vertebrae in his back. The t-shirt was too small and pulled taut over his chest and shoulders. It was a horrible red colour. It looked very like one of Draco's Slytherin t-shirts. Apart from that it was probably Gryffindor. He wondered where Potter had been when he'd been taken. He couldn't very well ask. Could he? …no. Not really.

He pulled back his sleeve and looked at his watch. It was a nice watch; sliver, with a green dragon on the face. The tail was the hour hand. It was nine o'clock. He should have eaten something at dinner. He'd only eaten the soup and the cheesecake. He didn't really like main course. He wished he'd eaten it now though. It was ages until breakfast as well.

There was a low grumbling from Potters' stomach. Apparently he was hungry as well. Draco didn't really think that his father would have fed him over the last two days. If Draco didn't eat for two days, he suspected he'd be eating his own hand or something like that. The longest he'd ever not eaten for was once when he was 12 and his father had told him he couldn't have any dinner. He didn't even do anything. His father just said something about a house elf, or something stupid. Oh and when he'd been ill the year before and he threw up everything he ate for an entire week.

Potter sneezed. Draco frowned. Did he have a cold? He needed to talk to someone. He was going mad. Absolutely stark raving mad.

"Potter?" Draco said. His voice cracked a bit. He coughed. "Are you… what's wrong?"

"I've got a cold, Malfoy," Harry said sarcastically. "Is it any wonder? I've been sitting in your pissing, freezing cold dungeon for three days."

Shit. How the hell had he managed to overlook… oh piss, he'd forgotten. How had he managed to forget that? He decided to pay more attention from now on. "Oh," he said. "Yes. I'll have to take down the charm when my father comes down."

Potter sighed and nodded. "Why did you put it up in the first place?"

Draco looked at him oddly. "It's cold."

Potter snorted. "Right. Simple as that."

Draco didn't say anything. But… yes, it was that simple. He wasn't going to sit in the cold just because Potter also happened to be down there. God, they'd only said three words to each other and he was already annoyed at the dark haired boy. Honestly.

88—

There was a scuffling noise. Draco twitched his nose and opened his eyes. There was a pair of house elf feet in front of his nose. He sat up, and smoothed down his hair. He'd slept on the floor. The floor. His back was absolutely _killing_ him. God, he wanted to kill his father for making him do this. There was absolutely no dignity in it at all. He rubbed a hand over his face. There was mud left in his hand. He sneered and wiped it on his cloak. It was already filthy, a little more dirt would not hurt.

"Master Draco?" Oh yes. The house elf.

"What?" he said disdainfully.

"I has your breakfast. And his-" the house elf pointed at Potter "-as well."

"Oh," Draco said. The house elf gave him a tray. There were eggs, bacon, toast. Potter could have the scrambled eggs, he didn't like those, and a couple of bits of toast as well.

The house elf popped away. Potter snorted. "What?" Draco snapped.

"You, and your father, you're both so rude to the house elves around here. It wouldn't kill you to have a bit of compassion here." Potter laughed cruelly and mocked himself. "Says the prisoner in the dungeon." He turned on his bum and faced Draco.

Draco gasped. He hadn't seen him in the light. Potter had a black eye – a bad one too. Much worse than the one he'd managed to give him in their last fight. There was a long gash down his cheek that was sure to scar – it had begun to heal over already. There were bruises up and down his arms and legs, and two dark stains of blood, one on his stomach and the other on his shoulder.

Potter sneered as he heard Draco gasp, "Never seen someone after they've been tortured Draco? They healed the worst of my injuries. Your father and his friends. They took it in turns. All yesterday, all the day before. They gave me the nights to 'recuperate'," he said casually. He continued, "My arm's a bit stiff. Someone jumped on it yesterday. I felt it break in three places. It's been healed – but it won't be the same. It was the one I had re-grown. It never was quite as good as before. They only heal the breaks. Not even all of those. My rib is cracked. It hurts to cough and sneeze, and I only stopped throwing up blood an hour or so before you appeared…"

Draco jumped to standing quickly, and threw up in the corner. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Potter had shut up now. A taunting voice came through his mind again, and images of his father jumping on Potters arm, and hitting him, and kicking him flashed in his mind. He threw up again. Oh God. What had he got himself into?


	3. Part Three

**Part Three**

Draco sank to the floor, and braced himself against the wall. He heard Potter sigh behind him.

"Are you… OK?" Potter asked reluctantly. God, did the boy never stop being noble? If he were Harry he'd be trying to get out the prison, and laugh and point at him.

Draco didn't turn around. Potter carried on talking. Draco hoped that he wouldn't start telling him what else his father got up to. He didn't know what he'd do if that was the case.

"I don't know how you can do this. I couldn't. I couldn't be here, knowing what your father does to people. Even if they are just _Mudbloods_," he sneered. "You know what happens, don't you? This isn't anything unusual."

"How would you know Potter?" he snapped. Throwing up put him in a _very _bad mood. And so did not having a clue what bloody Potter was talking about.

"You don't, do you?" Potter sounded almost amused. Draco wanted to slap him. "I've seen it. My scar –"

"Everything's about your precious scar, isn't it?" Draco spat. He didn't have a clue where it came from. His stomach churned. He closed his eyes.

"This is, yeah," Potter agreed. Draco moved from slapping to punching. "I have visions of what Voldemort is doing," he ignored Draco's shudder, "most nights. You get used to it. How depressing is that? I'm used to seeing people be tortured. By Voldemort, and his Death Eaters. Even eaten by his pissing snake."

"My father…" Draco said hesitantly. He knew he wouldn't like the answer. That didn't make it any less necessary for him to know the answer though. He didn't know it would change anything. He wasn't sure if he wanted anything to change.

"Yes," Potter said simply. "Not for a while though, he's been… occupied, hasn't he? But I used to see him quite a lot. He is one of the main participants when he's there. I'm not going to lie to you, Malfoy. There's no point in shielding the truth from you. And don't say you already knew. You threw up when I told you."

Draco nodded and turned around, to look at Potter. He was sat, crossing his legs, scratching at something on his knee. He looked up. His gaze pierced through Draco's skin. Draco felt like Potter could see everything about him, inside him, as he stared intently.

"I didn't know…" he said quietly. He looked at his feet.

Potter nodded again. "I did realise that. Did I break any illusions for you?"

Yes. Draco hadn't quite registered that he'd actually have to hurt people. He'd known, theoretically, but it hadn't registered in his mind. He didn't want it to. If he knew what was going to happen, what he'd be expected to do, and that he would actually have to do it… it wasn't helping him come to terms with being another generation of Malfoy being a Death Eater. He shrugged at Potter.

Potter sighed and closed his eyes.

88—

Later that day; he didn't know the time, he was woken up from his doze by Potter calling his name.

"Malfoy. Oi. Malfoy! Wake up," Harry called.

Draco grunted. "What the piss do you want?"

"Can I have those scrambled eggs?" Potter asked. He was sitting close to the bars now. His eyes kept straying to the tray on the floor. It had been left after Draco had thrown up.

"It's cold." Draco screwed up his nose.

"Do I look bothered? I haven't eaten in three days. I was being all nice, waiting for you to wake up, but after I counted the pissing bricks on this pissing wall for the second time, I decided to wake you up. Pass it here and you can go back to sleep. After you magic away your puke. It smells," Potter whined. Potter was whining. _Whining._

"Fuck off, Potter," Draco yawned. He pushed the tray towards Potter. Potter grinned at him. Draco felt the corners of his mouth quirk. He immediately turned around and picked up his wand. It did smell. Potter was right. He'd never say that aloud. Ever.

He prayed his spell worked. He still felt iffy, and was unbelievably not in the mood to deal with Potter's ribbing. "Vanishio!" The mess on the floor disappeared. He turned to Potter. The food was gone, but a slice of toast. He raised an eyebrow in question.

Potter shrugged, and turned slightly pink. "I didn't think you'd want anything."

"Oh?"

"You just threw up." Shit. Right.

"I suppose," Draco said blandly. "What… what have you been doing the last few days down here?"

"Getting the shite beaten out of me, we've been through this once already, remember? It didn't go to well." He looked pointedly at where the mess had just vanished from.

Oh fuck. Why didn't he think before he spoke? Saying things like that would get him killed one day. He wasn't particularly relishing the thought.

"Can I have the last bit of toast then?" Potter said.

"Uch," Draco said, screwing up his nose. It was hard. And burnt. And cold. But… it would make him look a bit nicer. But he didn't want to be considered nice by Potter, did he? He decided to cut off that line of inquiry before he came to any dangerous conclusions. "Yes, you pig."

"Oi," Potter protested, stuffing the toast in, very nearly whole. "If you hadn't eaten for that long, I'd give you all the food too. Even if I hadn't thrown up."

"Yes, well, you're a Gryffindor, you have to be all noble, it's in the pissing rule book," Draco sneered.

"'S'not," Potter said. Draco raised an eyebrow. There actually was a rule book? Potter rolled his one good eye. "There's not really a rule book, you gullible twat."

Ouch, Draco thought sarcastically, that really hurt. Good comeback. He decided to tell Potter.

Potter laughed. "Malfoy, considering I'm sitting in a freezing cold dungeon, my stomach is eating its self, and I feel like I've been sat on by a pissing Hippogriff… it wasn't half bad."

If it were anyone but Potter, Draco would have half-heartedly agreed. But it _was_ Potter. "Excuses, excuses. It's not cold any more."

Potter snorted. He sneezed and looked pointedly at Draco. "And I'm ill. Today's going wonderfully."

Draco laughed. Potter looked at him, surprised. Draco blushed. Potter smiled a little tiny bit. Draco coughed. "Potter?"

"What?" Potter asked.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did." Potter yawned. He examined a particularly black bruise on his elbow.

"Something else?"

"Sure. Why not. The rats are getting bored of talking to me."

"We haven't pissing well got rats, Potter!"

"Yes you have," Potter said.

"No, we don't," Draco protested fiercely.

"You do, I can hear them running about at night!" Harry insisted.

"Bull shit," Draco scoffed. "Anyway. Erm…"

"What?" Potter sighed. He leant forwards and he winced.

"What?"

Potter's eyes were shut. He scrunched them up more. "There's a… well, there was a Death Eater and a knife, Malfoy, that says it all."

"Oh." Draco's eyes were wide. "Do you want me to try and heal it?"

"Your father will kill you," Potter stated calmly. His eyes were open and they seemed to be able to see right through Draco. He felt naked and exposed. He didn't like it one bit.

"My… my father won't find out. He'll assume it's one of the things they healed. He's not exactly thinking right at the moment," Draco said.

"Azkaban does that to you," Potter said. It was different when Potter said it about his father. When he himself said it… it didn't seem real, or it could be a dream. Potter talking about it brought him right back to earth. He didn't like it, Potter always had. He brought out the baser instincts in Draco, he knew exactly which buttons to press to get him to react. But he knew how to do it to Potter as well, make him angry, make him get all worked up and make his eyes go all… no. Potter's eyes didn't do anything. They were ugly, too big for his face and… were very green. That was it.

"Shut up," Draco said blandly. "Are there locking charms on the door?"

Potter nodded. He didn't move.

Draco pulled his wand out his pocket and pointed it at the door. "Alohamora." The door squeaked slightly. He pushed it, and it opened. "Erm…"

Potter sighed and pulled his shirt over his head. He turned to let Draco see the wound on his shoulder. Draco winced. He didn't like blood. And there was a lot of it on Potter's shoulder, and dripping down his back.

"Want to know who did it?" Potter asked, looking over his shoulder. Draco sighed and crouched down next to him.

"I don't know. Do I?" Draco said. He held his wand up, and whispered, "Lumos," to get a better look.

Potter considered him for a minute. "You're right. You don't want to know." His silence told Draco everything he didn't want to know.

A few hours later, Potter started to talk again. "Do you want to ask me that question now?"

Draco looked at him. He nodded. "Where were you… what happened when they captured you?"

Potter looked at him. He had that look in his eyes again. Draco shivered. It wasn't from the cold. "Why?" he asked.

Draco didn't know. He told Potter. "I don't know."

Potter sat still looking at him, for quite a while. "OK. I don't know exactly _what_ happened. I was at the… you've heard of the Order, yeah?"

"The Order of the Phoenix? Father has mentioned it," Draco told him. He didn't tell him that it was only a few months ago when he had eavesdropped a conversation on possible locations of the Headquarters.

"I bet he has," Potter said darkly. He carried on, "Well, I was at the Headquarters. The Death Eaters must have found out somehow. I was visiting Professor Lupin, you remember?"

"The werewolf," Draco said.

"Yeah," Potter said. "So I was in the living room, and suddenly the fire flared, and three people in dark cloaks came. I recognised their voices, it was MacNair, Goyle and fucking Bellatrix Lestrange. I tried fighting you know, but I was ready to go to sleep, and, well, they Stunned me, and… I woke up here."

Draco nodded. He really didn't know what to say. Or do. He needed someone to tell him what to do. There were plenty of people to do that, but… which one was the right person to listen to?

His father? Potter? Someone else entirely? Draco didn't know.


	4. Part Four

Part Four 

When Draco woke up, he wasn't sure what time it was, what day it was, and for a moment he forgot entirely what he was doing in the soggy dungeons. Then he saw Potter leaning against the bars of his cell. Draco couldn't see any movement.

"Potter!" he whispered harshly. Nothing. Draco crawled over and looked at him. It was a bit dark. He grabbed his wand. "Lumos!" he said and light exploded from the end of the wand. "What the fuck is up with… oh…"

Potter moaned and forced an eye open. "You sleep like the fucking dead," he ground out before he shut his eyes again, and grimaced in pain.

"They… they didn't…" Potter nodded and Draco gasped involuntarily. "While I was… sitting there…" Potter nodded again, and Draco forced the bile in his throat back down. "Oh… Merlin, was my father there?" he asked. Suddenly, he just had to know. He'd been trying to deny to himself that his father wasn't a main participant in all of this. He knew he was wrong, but he couldn't make himself question all he knew.

"What… what happened… Harry, can you tell me? Do you want some… help, or something?" Draco asked. He didn't notice that he called Potter Harry, and if he had he would have insisted it was the heat of the moment, even though the moment was the coldest Draco had ever experienced.

"It.. was just… a normal night," Potter laughed. It was the most chilling noise Draco had ever heard, and it sent a chill down his spine. "I blacked out pretty fast tonight. It's always better, can't eel the pain so badly. But… they healed some of it… it's just bruises and cuts left I think…" Potter said. Draco wondered why it sounded like Potter was trying to shield him from the truth.

"Just… tell me, Potter. I can take it. I'm a big boy you know," Draco said condescendingly.

"You don't want to know," Potter said. Draco held up his wand to see his face clearer. The gash down his face had gone an odd colour, maybe it was infected. His black eye had gone an even worse green and purple colour. Draco felt chilled again. It wasn't the cold. He shoved his hand in his pockets, and his fingers closed around the potion vial Snape had given him. The Port Key. Fuck. Everything had just got a hell of a lot more complicated.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Potter coughed. He pulled himself up with the bars so he was sitting properly. Draco pretended that he didn't see the winces that Potter made as he did so.

"Nothing…" Draco said. He pulled his hand out of his pocket, and ran it through his hair. "Do you want me to heal some of those bruises?" Draco asked. "Or some of the cuts, they might get infected."

"Ah, yes," Harry said, studying Draco's face intently. "Can't have me dying before Voldemort gets his hands on me can we?"

Draco sneered at him weakly. It took more effort than he remembered to make the expression. It wouldn't stay on his face long as it was. "No. I… I suppose not." Draco wondered whether that was disappointment on Potter's face.

"Right," Potter said dully. "Not yet. The elf will be down in a bit with… breakfast I think. What time is it? What day is it?"

"It's er… Monday," Draco told Potter. "Not sure about the time. About nine I think." If it was Monday, it meant that the Port key would activate on Wednesday at about 5 o'clock. He had two days to decide if or what he was going to do about the Port key. Use it to take himself back to Hogwarts. Lie and be shocked that Potter was missing. Not go back at all, stay with his father and become a Death Eater. His father would teach him all he needed to know. Probably more than he wanted to as well though. Or he could take himself and Potter back, and be proclaimed a hero. Even Draco could tell which one sounded best. It was just that… which was the right choice for him?

Draco loved his parents. He knew and had heard all about the horrible things they had done, he had the evidence sitting in front of him, bleeding to death. But they were still his parents. They… he couldn't imagine never seeing the again, not talking to them, not spending Christmas with them and the holidays, and living with them at their home. He knew what his father had done; but what he saw was the man who had taught him how to ride his broom, had showed him where the house elf entrance to the kitchens was and that he should never tell his mother who had shown him. He'd been the one whose knee he'd sat on when he'd fallen over and scraped the skin on his leg, and the one who had encouraged him to do as well as he could, and to never give up, that if he wanted to he could do what ever he set his mind to.

But then he saw Harry Potter lying, bleeding on his floor as he remembered. It had been his fathers doing, he'd let this be done in his house in front of Draco, and he'd taken part in it. Harry Potter was just a sixteen year old boy, the same as him. He played Quidditch, and always beat Draco. He couldn't make a potion to save his life, and had more points taken off his house by Snape that the rest of them put together. He was just a boy, like Draco. Draco hadn't got a clue what was going up, and he couldn't imagine that Harry was any different. Why would he be?

Sure, Potter had done some crazy shit in his life, and always managed to get out of, and into some of the most ridiculous situations Draco could think of, but he was only sixteen years old. He was only a year old when Voldemorts curse had hit him, only eleven when Quirrel had tried to kill him, twelve when the basilisk was roaming around the school, thirteen when Black had escaped from prison and had supposedly been after him, fourteen when he'd escaped Voldemort, battled the fucker and gotten away, and done it again just a year later. Voldemort kept getting beaten by a boy. Just like Draco. A _stupid_ boy at that. One that couldn't make potions… and played Quidditch more than was healthy… and suddenly, Draco was starting to see things for himself, and everything became a lot clearer. What surprised him was the picture he was seeing at the end.

Voldemort gone at Harry Potter's hand.

"Malfoy," Potter hissed at him.

"Fuck off Potter," Draco said. "What do you want?"

"Breakfast, pass some of it over here, would you?" Potter whined. It was an awful habit, Draco decided.

"Stop whining," Draco snapped. Then he wondered why he was snapping at Potter. It wasn't his fault that Voldemort was insane… well, actually it probably was, he was driving Draco up the wall, and he'd only spent two days in his company. Voldemort had been in Potter's head for years. Couldn't be healthy for anyone, even a Dark Lord. He collected the breakfast from where the house elf had left it. He really had completely missed that an elf had been in there.

"I don't like tomatoes," Potter told him. "You can have those."

Draco frowned. "Nor do I. I don't like scrambled eggs though, you can have them." He put them on a plate and gave them to Potter. He shoved a couple of slices of toast on top. "Looks burnt," he said in answer to Potter's surprised look.

Potter looked amused. "Right. So you're going to eat the bacon and the toast and we'll throw the tomatoes at the next person who walks through the door."

Draco laughed. "No. The house elf can take them."

"Oh," Harry said sounding put out. "Right. I suppose. Your dad might not be best pleased if I throw tomatoes at him… oh, go on Malfoy. It'll be a right laugh."

"Ha," Draco said dryly, "You tell me that when he's got you hung up in those chains again."

Potter sighed. "I suppose. Reckon it would be worth it though. The great Lucius Malfoy… covered in tomatoes. Bloody priceless."

Draco snorted. "Eat your breakfast Potter." Surprisingly, Harry did what he was told.

88—

"Potter?" Draco asked.

"What?" Potter said. He turned around. He was moving better now, Draco had healed some of his bruises and applied an Anti-Infection Charm to his worst wounds.

"How did the Death Eaters know how to find you? I mean, they would have been trying for ages wouldn't they?" Draco asked.

Potter sighed and shrugged. "I dunno. Shouldn't think we'll find out unless we get out of here, which is looking way too unlikely for my liking. Maybe there's a traitor in the Order, maybe the Death Eaters collected some brains and used them, or maybe Bellatrix just fancied a visit to the family home. Who knows?"

Draco nodded. "There have been traitors before then?" he asked.

Harry nodded, his eyes clouding over a little and his posture stiffened.

"Was it Black?" Draco asked hesitantly. He never had totally understood or heard all of the story.

"No," Potter said vehemently. "Sirius didn't do anything. He shouldn't have gone to Azkaban, he didn't kill anyone. It was Pettigrew that betrayed them, not Sirius."

"Pettigrew?" Draco asked. "Have I heard of him before?"

"Probably," Potter said. "He was supposedly killed by Sirius, but he faked it all. It was him that blew up the street and killed all those Muggles. He betrayed my parents to Voldemort. He pinned it all on Sirius, and they convicted him without a trial."

"How did he get away then?" Draco asked. He'd heard that bit if the story before.

"He was an Animagus, look Malfoy, it's nice you being interested and all, but could we change the subject? Maybe to one that doesn't make me want to kill Pettigrew or Bellatrix or Voldemort… oh fuck, that really is too many people for one person to want dead." Potter rested his forehead on his knees.

Draco agreed. He didn't want anyone dead. But Potter… was the same age, and he had enemies. Like, real ones not just Draco punching him every now and again. Potter was dealing with real people, real death, real people trying to kill him. It hit Draco that this was why Harry Potter was the one dealing with this and not him. Harry Potter had the strength to do this, to save so many lives, to kill such a monstrous person, that death was really too good for. Draco couldn't even find the strength to confront his own father. Never mind a Dark Lord.


End file.
